Blood of My Enemy
by scotsoe
Summary: Harry finds himself trapped in a dungeon, with Voldemort preparing for an unknown ritual that will change his life forever. Should he even be surprised anymore? Absolutely NO!Slash, NO!Romance


Harry awoke to a cold numbness covering his body. Expecting to open his eyes to the same white ceiling of the infirmary he had come to know all too well, he was shocked to see the steely gaze of the last man he'd ever hope to see: Lord Voldemort.

"So good of you to finally join us, Potter," the Dark Lord said lazily, the edges of his mouth hinting at a smirk. "After all, we couldn't start without _you_ , now could we?"

Suppressing the panic threatening to overwhelm him, Harry hastily began to analyze his situation: it was quite dire. He was on his knees in a stone dungeon, bound by the wrists to two pillars at his sides, while Voldemort sat on a simple throne in front of him with two torches flickering menacing from the wall behind. The panic came back in full force as he noticed a faintly glowing circle that surrounded him, the edge lined with unknown runes – Harry cursed himself for not listening to Hermione – that seemed to pulse rhythmically.

"Do you like it, Potter? I can see in your eyes that the complexity is lost on you; disappointing, I admit, but not unexpected. Severus has been quite… eloquent in his opinion of your intelligence."

"What is it?" Harry spat, hoping that his anger hid the fear.

"Ah, straight to the point then? This," he indicated the glow that separated them "is a ritual circle, though I believe even you can deduce that. It's the most fascinating of its kind I've discovered; I was eager to use it the moment I realized the power it held. However, like most rituals of this magnitude, it has its own restrictions," At this, Voldemort stood and began slowly pacing at the edge of the circle, seeming to speak more to himself than his captive. "Even I began to despair at the thought of being denied my new discovery. After all, the blood of a brother is quite hard to come by with no siblings, and I personally ensured I had no parents to give me one. But then, dear Harry, I remembered that my blood is not quite my own."

A chill shot through Harry's bones as he realized what his nemesis intended. He looked up to find the Dark Lord's red eyes staring right back, with no discernible expression on his snakelike face. The Boy who Lived also noticed, for the first time, that Voldemort wasn't holding his wand but rather a simple knife; not a comforting thought given the conversation.

"Yes, Potter. The connection we share that has cost us both dearly will be put to the test. In fact, my entire plan hinges on it. In one single moment I can take away everything you hold dear, and change my own life in ways only one of us will ever see."

"I'll find a way to stop you, Tom. I always do," Harry said, still struggling to keep his cool. "And even if I don't someone else will always be there."

At this Voldemort broke into a true grin, his eyes alight with glee. "But that's where you're wrong, Potter. That _thing_ , love, that the old fool always says is the most powerful magic; he thinks it's your greatest strength, but I know how to turn it against you. Your _love_ and _compassion_ will force you to serve me, and give me something even I have never been able to attain. Given time, you may even learn to enjoy it."

Harry glared at the Dark Lord, not wanting to give his enemy the satisfaction of a response but refusing to back down. He had no idea what Voldemort was ranting about, but he knew the Imperius Curse was resistible, and couldn't imagine how love could force him to help his most hated enemy. 'No' Harry thought to himself in horror, 'it couldn't be like amortentia. I'll just have to resist it at all costs.'

"Well, I see no point in delaying the inevitable, Potter. Don't worry," the Dark Lord said with a smirk "this won't hurt a bit."

Standing at the edge of the circle of runes and looking upon his foe, Voldemort lifted the knife above his head, and brought it down swiftly… onto his other hand. Without even a grimace he knelt and laid his bleeding hand upon the edge of the circle, and began to murmur something too softly for Harry's ears.

Within a minute, Harry noticed that the ritual actually didn't seem to hurt at all. In fact, as the Dark Lord continued the chant, it seemed that _he_ was the one growing weaker. As the ritual circle began to glow ever more brightly, Voldemort's already sickly skin became even paler. At this point Harry had even less of a clue what was going on. Had the ritual gone wrong? Was this all just a trick by his cunning enemy to lull him into weakening his resolve?

Caught up in his thoughts, Harry didn't even notice when the Dark Lord had stopped his chant. All he noticed was Voldemort, barely able to hold himself up and illuminated by the pulsating runes, with one final smile.

"I win, Potter," the Dark Lord said weakly, before falling to the floor.

Before Harry could recover from the shock of watching the man who had ruined his life die, the glow of the runes grew into a blinding light, and he knew no more.

* * *

Harry's head was pounding as he once again woke in an unfamiliar place. This time he was in a hallway with brick walls and a wooden floor that seemed oddly familiar. After checking his surroundings for danger he stood with a groan, and was left to wonder where the hell Voldemort had sent him. Harry was relieved to feel the pain in his head start to abate, and began to faintly hear voices coming from a nearby door.

"- hope he looks like his papa," came the voice of a woman, who seemed to be crying.

"Stay with us miss, I'm going to-" a second woman began, before being cut off by the short wailing of a baby.

"-for his father, and Marvolo, for my father," the first voice said, barely heard through the door.

"Miss! Miss, can you hear me?" the second voice cried.

Unable to stop himself from helping someone in need, Harry slowly opened the door. Inside the small room was a table with a young woman lying on her back; the sheets around her legs were covered in blood. Hovering over her was another young woman, who was distracted enough to have not noticed the newcomer. Harry, however, only had eyes for a small bundle of cloth set on a nearby chair, which held a newborn baby.

"Damn you Tom…" Harry whispered realizing where, and more importantly when, Voldemort had sent him.

"What was that?" the young lady said, turning around to face Harry. Suddenly she seemed angry at his intrusion. "What are you doing here? This is none of your business!"

Harry sighed in his mind, secretly agreeing with the woman he knew to be Mrs. Cole.

"Actually," Harry said, staring at the baby who grew up to be his nemesis. "I'm here for adoption."

The End

* * *

So there you have it. Voldemort knew that Harry would not be able to kill a newborn baby, and would have to stop the rise of Voldemort another way, ie raising young Tom Riddle himself. I see it as a win-win scenario for Tom since, like he said, it's completely uprooting Harry's life while giving himself a life he couldn't even really understand. I don't expect to continue this since I don't have much to say about a Harry raising Tom fic, but if I do I'll continue it from here rather than starting a new story.

I had started a bit of a speech from Voldemort about finally achieving his goals only to realize how boring and hollow victory was (in which case I would have thrown in some backstory about him winning the Battle of Hogwarts, probably), but I couldn't get it to work well and its 4 in the morning.

I have a few other one shots that I plan to write in the near future, along with a lengthy fic featuring a character that is surprisingly left out of most fanfiction. Wish me luck!

Give me your thoughts on anything I should add, change, or whatever, I know my grammar is far from flawless. I love constructive criticism, and any reviews are appreciated!


End file.
